


i sing the blues and swallow them too

by itsafuckingdeathwish



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, M/M, Overdose, Peterick, Sad, Suicide, barely edited, but fuck it ok, like at all, oh god why tf did i write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsafuckingdeathwish/pseuds/itsafuckingdeathwish
Summary: “He’s---he’s not moving and his eyes are closed and oh my god is he dead?”  He didn’t know if he was screaming the words, or if he was even saying them out loud.“Is he breathing?”  How the fuck was she so calm?  When Pete might be---“Um---Uh---”  Patrick thought he saw Pete’s chest rise a little, then fall back down (maybe it was wishful thinking, but he didn’t want to think about that).  “Yeah, a bit, I-I think.”“Okay, do you know what happened, why he’s unconscious?”“No, I j-just found him---found him like this---wait.”  Next to Pete’s too-still body, Patrick could see his shattered phone, and a bottle of vodka, and…fucking hell.  “There’s an empty bottle of vodka, and his Ativan---oh God.”(i'm shit at summaries but just read it it's angsty and depressing and maybe not shitty?)





	i sing the blues and swallow them too

**Author's Note:**

> tw for: suicide, overdose. stay safe xx

All Pete could hear were the words bouncing around in his head like echoes in a cavern.

Worthless.

Didn’t we raise you better?

Well, maybe it’s just a phase honey. He’ll grow out of it.

An abomination of God.

How could you do this to your family?

It’s unnatural.

A disgrace.

You’re disgusting.

The ghosts of his parents’ voices blended together like waves building up at the beach before they crashed onto the sand. 

He just wanted it all to be quiet; they were just inside his head, so why the hell couldn’t just make them shut up?

The door to the roof made a deafening clang when he shoved it open breathlessly, having run six blocks here and up eight flights of stairs, but it was so worth it now.

Above the long-abandoned warehouse, the air always felt a little clearer, like he could breathe a little easier. He let the door swing shut behind him with a rusty screech, and just stood there in the cool night for a moment, gazing out at his city. It was that perfect time of dusk where the sky was painted a million different colors, and the city was lit up by all the streetlamps and fluorescent office lighting and traffic lights and car headlights.

If it had been another day, maybe he would have actually appreciated it. 

Pete collapsed to the ground against the wall, too numb to do anything else. 

It didn’t feel real; his mind was foggy, like he was swimming through the murky waters of a dream. Maybe it was just a nightmare. He’d love to wake up at home with parents who still loved him and a life that wasn’t shattered.

Why the hell had he thought that was a good idea? He’d known it wouldn’t end well, but he had never dreamt that it would turn out like this. At least now he was free. Living a lie every single fucking day was exhausting. He had to be careful with every word, to never let anything slip. Now he didn’t have to try to hide being gay anymore, but he wasn’t quite sure this was any better. 

Now all he had was parents who hated him, no home (at least not one that he was willing to go back to), no life. 

He couldn’t fucking take this anymore.

Leaning over, he blindly grabbed one of the bottles he always kept here, not even bothering to glance at the label, and dug the little bottle of Ativan out of his pocket with his other hand. He shook out some of the pills into his hand and swallowed them back with a swig of the drink---vodka, he realized as soon as it hit his mouth. He did the same thing for the rest of the pills, and finished off the vodka too.

His head was buzzing delightfully in just a few minutes, and the city lights were drifting around like fireflies in summer. God, he missed being young, giggling and running around in August, cupping fireflies in his palms before letting them fly off again. 

Pete frowned when he noticed that the rainbow sky was getting duller and duller, covered by gray clouds. Something was dragging the colors down, too. A little drop of water hit his arm, then another on his leg, then another, then another. Oh. The rain in his vision was streaking everything down and washing it out, not just the sky. 

Well, at least now the sky matched his mood. 

Pete didn’t know how long he sat there on the roof, listening to his heart pounding in his chest like the bassline at a concert was thrumming through him, but there was no music anywhere. Five minutes? An hour? Three? Months?

At least he still had Patrick. Sometimes he thought the only thing grounding him to the world was Patrick; without him, Pete would just float up into the clouds, get picked up by the wind, slip away into the depths of the water, get washed away by every new rain. 

Oh god. Patrick. What would he think had happened? No way in hell would his parents tell anybody why, so Patrick would never understand, would spend his days just thinking over and over and over again, why didn’t I stop him? It wasn’t Patrick’s fault, not at all, but Pete knew Patrick, so he knew that his boyfriend would of course find some way to blame himself, and Pete couldn’t stand that.

With shaking, clumsy fingers, Pete dug his phone out of his pocket. It took him far too many tries to put in his passcode, but he finally unlocked it, and called Patrick. 

The sound of the ringing was too shrill, too high, too much, but thankfully Patrick picked up after just two rings. 

“Pete, where are you? I’ve been texting you for hours.”

Pete was entranced by the ripples of raindrops hitting a puddle a few feet away, but he shook himself out of it after a few seconds. 

“I---I just had to leave. I’m fiiiiiine man, don’ worry,” he slurred.

“Oh god, I knew, it, you’re fucking high again. That’s just great.”

“I’m fiiiiiiine man calm down.” 

“Pete, you have got to stop doing this. I can’t always be here to come take care of you.” Pete could hear the annoyance in his boyfriend’s voice.

“So I’m just a fuckin---fuckin burden for you? That what I am?”

“Dude---c’mon, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How the fuck d’you mean it then seemed pretty fuckin clear to me how else would you mean shit like that?” Pete’s voice sounded distorted even to his own ears, soft and sharp at the same time, and he could only imagine how garbled it must be to Patrick through the phone.

“I just---I can’t keep doing this all the time. Every time I call you you’re high, or drunk, or both, and I can’t take this anymore. I love y—”

“Do ya? Really? If ya can’t take this, then stop fucking trying.” 

With those final words, Pete stabbed at his phone screen with shaking fingers but the colors were swimming in front of his eyes and the world seemed to sway, like the universe was just a huge acid trip, but then the colors splintered apart and disappeared, and he was just left staring down at a shattered black screen lying on the concrete.

Well, at least the call had gone silent.

The world around him was louder than ever though. The wind was screaming in his ear; sounds of the city beat in his chest like a drum. The echo of   
Patrick’s voice reverberated inside his head until he just couldn’t fucking take it.

Thankfully, a second after that, the world went black.   
………………………………………………

Patrick’s footsteps on the old metal staircase clanged out into the empty warehouse, almost as loud as his heartbeat. 

God, what was wrong with him? Pete was his boyfriend---maybe? He didn’t even know anymore. He loved Pete, so why the fuck had he said that shit? He was supposed to support Pete, to take care of him, not fucking yell at him.

Finally, he reached the door to the roof, sighing with relief. He just needed to calm down, to figure himself out, then he would call Pete back and explain that he’d just been stressed, that he’d let his emotions get the best of him, that he was just upset, didn’t really mean it---

Oh god. 

No.

This wasn’t happening.

God.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

All Patrick could hear was a buzzing, radio staticky sound; everything in Patrick’s vision blurred, except for the person slumped against the wall.

Stars burst inside his head as he stumbled over to his boyfriend, collapsing to the ground next to him. A constant chorus of nononononononononono was running through his mind, or maybe he was mumbling it out loud; he didn’t even know anymore.

“Pete-fuck, Pete, please wake up, please,” he sobbed. His head, his mouth, his limbs were filled with stuffing, spilling out of his throat, his ears, his eyes.   
Trembling, he pulled out his phone and dialed 911, taking a few tries to get the numbers right. 

He was seeing the world as if underwater; tears in his eyes turned everything into an abstract watercolor painting, just streaks of colors with no meaning. Nothing had any meaning anymore, if Pete was de---

Choking back a sob, he finally pressed call, and held the phone up to his ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a bright voice asked.

“I---he’s---Pete’s---oh god.” He couldn’t say it.

“What happened?”

“He’s---he’s not moving and his eyes are closed and oh my god is he dead?” He didn’t know if he was screaming the words, or if he was even saying them out loud.

“Is he breathing?” How the fuck was she so calm? When Pete might be---

“Um---Uh---” Patrick thought he saw Pete’s chest rise a little, then fall back down (maybe it was wishful thinking, but he didn’t want to think about that).   
“Yeah, a bit, I-I think.”

“Okay, do you know what happened, why he’s unconscious?”

“No, I j-just found him---found him like this---wait.” Next to Pete’s too-still body, Patrick could see his shattered phone, and a bottle of vodka, and…fucking hell. “There’s an empty bottle of vodka, and his Ativan---oh God.”

“Where are you currently?”

“Um…” Where even was he? Nothing made sense. After a moment, he remembered, so he told her the address. “We’re on the roof.”

“I’ve sent an ambulance to your location, just stay there, and if anything changes in his condition, please call us back.”

“Thank---thank you,” he managed, then hung up the call. 

“Please, Pete,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

The only thing keeping Patrick even somewhat okay was the faint, fluttering pulse he could feel in Pete’s wrist as he held his hand desperately. 

“P-pat-patrick?” Oh god, now he was even imagining Pete’s voice.

“Patrick?” Wait. It was faint, but Patrick could’ve sworn it was real. He glanced over at Pete’s mouth, then inhaled sharply.

“Pete? Fuck---Pete, I love you I didn’t mean it I swear please be okay please come back to me please I’d die without you---” Patrick barely even knew what   
he was saying as the words spilled out of his mouth, filling the empty air.

Usually Patrick hated hearing sirens, because he hated knowing that something bad had happened to someone, but right now he would have given anything to hear them wailing down the street.

“P-Patrick, I’m sor---I’m sorry for being such a burden, you don’t---you shouldn’t have had to deal with that---at least now you don’t have----now you don’t have to.”

“No---Pete---fuck, Pete, I-I love you, I was just stressed I didn’t mean it please I swear Pete you can’t leave me Pete,” he sobbed, his words falling onto the   
concrete then washing away with the rain. 

At least it wasn’t sunny. The sky shouldn’t be happy when Pete was dying, it was just wrong. 

Storms always were Pete’s favorite, so at least Pete was getting to see one one last time---

No, fuck, he had to stop thinking like this. The ambulance would come. They’d get him to the hospital, pump his stomach maybe. And then everything would be fine.

Completely, totally fine. 

“I love you, Patrick.” The whispered words almost could’ve been lost in the rain and wind, and Patrick still wasn’t sure if they were even real, but he hoped they were.

Because a few seconds later, Pete drew in one last shaky breath.

Closed his eyes for the last time.

Squeezed Patrick’s hand weakly one last time.

And then that faint little pulse in his wrist fluttered weakly then finally fell still.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i'm hoping this wasn't totally shitty? ik its depressing but when is my stuff ever not slkfjsldfj   
> comments and kudos appreciated, tell me what you think! (hhhh i need validation)  
> hmu on tumblr @collapsingstarwithtunnelvision


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